Dark Eyes
by Demented Insane Spirit
Summary: John Smith paused, staring at the dark eyes that surveyed him. There was no fear, but a cool composure, as if she knew he would not dare shoot at her. His fingers were numb and even as he carefully set his rifle aside, his heart was thundering at the sight of the exotic woman.
1. Part I

A/N: I hate instant inspiration. It drives me crazy.

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_Title: Dark Eyes_

_Rating: K and Up_

_Genre: Romance_

_Summary: John Smith paused, staring at the dark eyes that surveyed him. There was no fear, but calmness, as if she knew he would not dare shoot at her. His fingers were numb and even as he carefully set his rifle aside, his heart was thundering at the sight of the exotic woman._

_Disclaimer: I do not own Pocahontas_

_Notes/Warnings: first attempt in this fandom; John Smith/Pocahontas_

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_Dark Eyes_

John Smith trekked through the thick forestry, breathing in the fresh scents of the land on which they had arrived. Emerald green clashed against dark brown. There was growth of vines and thick moss upon the trees and as he slipped in and out of the rugged paths, he could not help but feel alive. As he broke out of the woods, he found himself at a cliff and gazed out at the beauty and the expanse of trees that extended far beyond him. He released a long breath, resting a hand upon the trunk of a tree. So much land! So much adventure! As he continued to stare, it seemed as if the land went on for leagues and leagues, almost as though it were never ending. He could spot a break in the trees some ways from the cliff where the reflected sunlight indicated a river. As he stood on the cliff, he tilted his head back and felt the sunlight flood over his face. He pushed a hand through his thick, blonde hair and smiled to himself faintly.

His smile vanished a moment later as he recalled Radcliffe's arrogant orders to him to discover where the Indians were located. Of course, he knew that one of the reasons he was chosen for this expedition was in order to control and contain any Indian threats. However, that didn't mean he couldn't have a bit of fun while he searched for them. He smiled again, renewed by this thought, and hastened away from the cliff, eager to do more exploring.

By mid-day, it was beginning to get warm. He tossed his rifle down next to a waterfall and sighed deeply, shaking his hair out. He put his hands on his hips and looked around interestedly, considering the area. It was peaceful. The soft roar of the waterfall was all the sound that could be heard. As he stood next to it, the mist cooled his hot skin. He knelt down at the river and splashed his face, releasing a groan of relief. He pooled more water into his hands and then paused, spotting a reflection in the water. _It's not one of the men, _he concluded, throwing the water into his face. _They're too loud and would have announced themselves. It must be an Indian. _He picked up the hard, metal hat and placed it on his head, carefully glancing behind him at the tree where he had spotted the person. They were hidden now, but he was certain they were there. _Curious, are you, my friend?_ he wondered. _Or are you simply here to kill me? _A brief, grim smile crossed his lips and then he picked up his rifle and slipped behind the waterfall, climbing up into the crevice located directly behind it.

After carefully lighting his rifle, he blew on it to keep it ignited and waited patiently. He heard the soft sound of wet feet hitting stone. He tensed, listening anxiously. Through the water, he could see a slim shape crouching on one of the flat rocks. Another moment and the figure had moved to the rock directly in front of his crevice. He blew quietly again and after the figure had moved once again, he sprang from his position, covering his rifle to avoid it getting wet and pointed the mouth of his rifle at the distinct shape in the mist.

Slowly, the figure rose from its crouched position and with a sudden shock, he realized it was a woman. Even in the mist, he could see her angular face tilted towards him, her long, ebony hair blowing out from behind her from the waterfall. His grip tightened for a moment on the rifle. But then, John Smith paused, staring at the dark eyes that surveyed him. There was no fear, but calmness, as if she knew he would not dare shoot at her. His grip loosened on the rifle and he slowly lowered it, his threatening expression fading to one of wonder. His fingers were numb and even as he carefully set his rifle aside, his heart was thundering at the sight of the exotic woman.

She watched him as he slipped off the rock and into the water. He could sense her distrust and approached as he would a frightened animal. In spite of himself, his fingers were stretching, reaching out to her, wishing to touch her copper skin. Her eyes narrowed and then her legs, so strong and powerful, pushed her from the rock and she was dashing from him. Startled, he cried out, "Wait!" and then hastened to grab his items from the rock and pursued her. Branches snapped at his face, caught at his clothing, and he was aware of how much he jangled as he ran, whereas she was as silent as a deer, plunging into the woods with no care. As he escaped from the trees, he found that she was far ahead of him. He tossed his rifle and hat aside and hurried after her even as she threw herself into the canoe at the river shore. "Wait! Please!" He panted as he came to a stop at the shore. She had paused, the paddle in her hands, but she had turned to look at him, her soft eyes narrowed and yet also appearing puzzled at his pursuit. "Please...," he gasped, "just wait." After he had caught his breath, he said, "I won't hurt you."

She murmured something, her face clearing to that of uncertainty. He laughed softly.

"Of course," he muttered, "you can't understand me..." He sighed. "Please...let me get you out of there." He offered his hand and she stared at it. He realized how strange it must be to her as he glanced at his own hand. His was pale and white, with the slightest hint of pink in his colouring. Her skin was dark and rich, almost like the deep colour of caramel. She peered at his hand for a long time and then, after brushing her hair behind her ear, she offered her thin hand. Relieved, he took it, gently pulling the canoe back to shore. Her skin was softer than he expected and her hand was small in his hand as he helped her from the canoe. She was not like any woman he had met – women that were aristocratic, manipulative, and entirely ruled by the way of English society. She lifted herself out of the canoe, her eyes penetrating him. "Who are you?" he asked, even though he doubted she could understand him. Her head tilted, as though she were listening to something from far away.

After a moment, her mouth curved in a small smile. "My name is Pocahontas."

He could hear his heart beating fast in his ears again. "I'm John Smith."

Her smile was intoxicating and she had not yet removed her hand from his, even turning her eyes down to their joined hands curiously. She shifted her fingers in his palm and he felt his stomach stir in excitement. This woman...She was everything that he had been born to hate, everything that he had made his life out of eliminating, yet she was drugging him. He felt as though opium was pumping in his blood, raising him to a strange type of combination of high and numbness.

He led her from the canoe and settled at the tree that was near the shore and when she sat next to him, a raccoon slipped from behind her, climbing on her lap. A hint of surprise crossed his face as he recognized the raccoon as one that had harassed him for biscuits only some time ago during the day. He turned his gaze back to the Indian woman. _Has she been following me all day? _"This is Meeko," she introduced, "and this is Flit," she added as the hummingbird cast an evil look towards John.

"Amazing," he murmured as Meeko rolled around in Pocahontas's lap, seeming to grin up at John teasingly. "They're completely enamored of you. Hmm..." He frowned as Flit took a threateningly jab at him. "Stubborn little fellow...doesn't seem to like me. That's alright, I prefer your friend there, anyway." He tilted his chin towards Meeko, who looked more than a bit pleased by this, giving a self-satisfied smirk towards the hummingbird. Flit seethed angrily, but contented himself with ignoring him completely.

"_You_ are amazing," Pocahontas returned. Surprised, he raised his eyes to hers. She was looking at him intently. After a moment, she took his hand in hers and said, "Such pale skin...everyone here is much darker. How does your skin get this way? Are you ill?"

"I'm sure I am," he remarked in amusement. She blinked, appearing concerned. "Not in the way that you think," he assured her, sensing her attitude. "From where I come, this skin tone is normal. We all look like this. Some have dark hair like yours – we're not all blonde – but everyone has white skin in London."

"Luh-dun?" she repeated, her brows knitting together. "What is that? Is that your village?"

"We call it a city," he told her. "It's much larger than what your people call villages. We have bridges that cross rivers made of rocks, buildings as tall as trees made of rocks and wood from trees. We have all kinds of ways to make food and we have cinnamon and spices from India."

"India?"

"Yes, it's another place where – er... dark-skinned people dwell. But they speak and act much differently than you." This seemed amazing to Pocahontas and she stared at him as if the idea of dark-skinned people that she was unaware of could not be possible. He smiled, enjoying her delight at the information he offered her. "But tell, what of your people? Why, ah...why did you follow me?"

"I saw strange clouds above the trees," she explained, "and so I followed them along the shore. I was up on the cliff and saw you and three other white men." She moved a bit closer to him, excitement and interested alighting her features. "Those strange clouds...they were on pieces of trees, weren't they? What do you call that?"

"They're not clouds," he said, "but sails. The entire thing is called a ship. Like your canoe there, but more sturdy. It can carry more and go longer distances. The wind," he raised his hands, one of them vertical and the other horizontal, "hits the sails like this, see?" He tapped his own palm with the horizontal hand. "And it pushes the ship forward."

"You don't use paddles?"

"No, that would take too much of an effort." He smiled. She said nothing for a long while, appearing thoughtful, absorbing what he had told her. She was close to him and he could smell strange, earthy scents from her. He reached out and slipped a hand through her thick, dark hair. She stirred slightly and looked at him in question. "You didn't answer my question. Why did you follow _me_ rather than watch the other three?"

"I'm not sure," she admitted, "but you _were_ the one that wandered off alone. You had just come to a new land...I couldn't imagine someone doing something like that without others around them to protect themselves." She frowned and then asked, "What is that thing you were pointing at me? It must have been a weapon, but we've never seen such a thing."

"It's called a rifle. It...well, it basically shoots these small metal pieces that will kill your opponent."

"That sounds awful."

"It's a powerful weapon," John told her, "and faster than a bow and arrow." This appeared to disconcert her, so instead he asked, "Do you have names for these places here?"

"My village is called Werewocomoco, it is where my father, the chief, lives." Pocahontas told him, lifted from her dark thoughts. With a swift gesture, she indicated the river, saying, "This is Chickahominy River that we are on."

"So you are a princess?" he asked.

"What is that?"

"That is what we call the daughters of our kings. A chief, to us, would be the king of your people."

"I am only called the chief's daughter," Pocahontas said. "Things are so much different from where you come from." She lifted his hard hat, turning it about. "I've never seen things like this before you came. The names that you have are so strange, as well. John Smith...Luh-dun...and this word, princess...It's all so different from our ways." She placed the hat on her head and Flit tapped on it. She winced and lowered it.

"Things are much different here, too," John remarked. "Ch-Chicka...hominy...Pocahontas..." The air seemed still. Very carefully, he reached out and took her hand in his again, covering it with his other hand. It was warm and his thumb stroked her knuckles absently, gazing into her dark eyes. He had never been a man ruled by propriety, having spent the majority of his life on the sea and in other, foreign lands, but even he wondered if he was being too forward with his actions. At the same time, he hardly cared. He lifted one of his hands and his fingers brushed along her cheekbone and then slipping into her soft hair. Flit immediately was snapping at his hand. "Alright, alright!" he said exasperatedly as he withdrew his hand from her face.

Pocahontas appeared amused and leaned back, slipping her hand from his. "What do your people plan on doing here? Are they staying?"

"We'll be creating a place like London," he told her. "There will be streets for carriages and horses, decent houses, nice buildings – "

"Our houses are fine," she interrupted sharply.

"But we've been improving the lives of savages all over the world!" he told her animatedly. A second later he cursed himself at his word usage. He had been purposely avoiding that word the entire conversation, checking himself when he was about to use it. She let out an offended exclamation and leapt to her feet, storming to her canoe and jumping in. "Wait, wait!" He followed her and dashed into the water, putting a hand on the front of her canoe. "Let me explain..."

"Let me go," she told him angrily.

Irritated a bit himself, he leaned forward and said, "I'm not going to let you go this easily."

She glared at him.

"Listen, savage is just a word that we use for...for being uncivilized."

"I don't consider us uncivilized. I think _you're_ the ones that are," she retorted.

John sputtered a moment at this, realizing that he was somewhat insulted by this and not at all certain what he should say to such an accusation. He muttered, "That's not...savage doesn't mean..."

"What you really mean," she told him softly, leaning forward, "is 'not like you.'" He opened his mouth to contradict this and then sighed, defeated. Pocahontas considered him for a moment and then dropped the paddle back inside the canoe and slipped out of it, pulling it back to the shore again. Meeko and Flit watched her anxiously, sensing her temper. John followed her out of the water, a sheepish look on his face. "How do you know if we're like you or not - or if we're bad or not if you don't make an effort to try to know?" She turned and faced him again, holding out a hand. "Follow me." He took it and she led him away, back into the forest. She pointed out bear tracks and although he was not at all comfortable with following bear tracks without his rifle, he followed her, trusting her judgment. There was a bear lumbering ahead, but he saw three baby cubs rolling around its feet, mewling. One paused and then galloped towards them.

"What are you doing?" he asked nervously, looking at the adult bear that simply turned and stared at them. "It's going to attack us if we touch that thing!"

"No, it won't," she told him and picked up the cub that licked its nose. She smiled and then handed it to John, who took it with trepidation. She chuckled at his expression. "The first thing that you think of when you see this bear is that it's dangerous, so you should kill it. The first thing that we think of is that it's a potential threat, but if it does not harm us, then there is no need for its death. It has a family, just as our fathers do."

"This is madness," he muttered, shaking his head as he set the bear down. Pocahontas laughed at him and then pulled him away again.

He was awash in wonder at the things she showed him. He was accustomed to dark buildings, carriages, and the coolness of London. She showed him the sweet smells and views of nature, she taught him how to handle an eagle, and when they came to a large expanse of sunflowers, she cartwheeled down the hill and he ran after her, tripping over his own feet and rolling roughly down after her. She laughed, delighting at his bewildered expression and rolled towards him. His breath was taken away when she came to his side, hovering above him. He felt as though every inch of him was on fire from the close proximity. She was beautiful, her dark hair forming a curtain around his face. He breathed in the scent of sunflowers around them and he was certain that he was going to kiss her. Before he could consider longer on that thought, however, she was pulling him away again, to the river where she dove in. He followed and when a sea otter slipped between them, dancing in the waters with them, he nearly swallowed a mouthful of water. Pocahontas smiled at every point of surprise that he showed. Afterward, she led him through the forest where deer were racing down a path and exhilarated, she chased after them with John following her. It was wild, with no inhibitions, and it was unlike any experience he had with nature before. If ever he did experience the animals within nature, it was always to supply himself with food.

"Pocahontas," he said when they returned to where they had begun, "forgive me for calling your people savages." She put her fingers to his lips.

"Don't apologize. As long as you understand."

John had no reply to this, but his hands found hers again and they stood there, fingers interlocked. He closed his eyes, resting his forehead against hers. He was still slightly breathless from running. In the distance, a sudden thrum of drumbeats sounded. Pocahontas withdrew and he raised his head, glancing behind him. "What is that?"

"It's the drums," she said, her brow furrowing in worry. "It means trouble. I...I shouldn't be here. I need to go back to my people."

"Pocahontas," he took her wrist as she moved from him. She turned back to him and he felt a horrible wrenching in his chest as he looked at her. John Smith wasn't a romantic man and had never felt such a terrible desire to keep a woman with him as he did with this foreign woman. His blood was drawn to her, his heart yearned for her, and his body wanted nothing more than to satisfy her. He knew he was foolish for feeling this way after a mere day of being with her and while he had thought her entertaining in her ignorance at first, now he realized that he, too, must have been amusing to her at his own ignorance. They could learn so much from each other and her vivid, energetic personality could only compliment his own. "When can I see you again?"

"I...I can't," she murmured, but he could see the conflict in her eyes. She tugged, trying to pull from him, but he only pulled her closer. She raised her face and said softly, "I'm sorry." His grip tightened briefly, wanting to force her to stay, but he released her and after a moment's pause in which their gaze met again, she turned and fled to the canoe, her companions following. Meeko looked back at him, as though sensing his pain.

John watched her for a long time, an empty feeling overcoming him.

_TBC_

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A/N: I only plan on this being a two-part or three-part. I was intending on it only being a one-shot, but...I wanted to continue it. So sue me. In any case, please leave me some feedback. Criticism is always appreciated and embraced! Ciao!


	2. Part II

_Dark Eyes, Part II_

Not for the first time, John berated himself for acting foolishly. He had sulked around Jamestown for the past three days, something that Ben and Lon had teased him about. Thomas, the more mature of his companions, was kinder and simply attributed it to his missing the action with the Indians. "Don't worry, John," he told him cheerfully, "you'll get an opportunity soon enough." John had made more of an effort at acting normal, but even as he helped set the wooden gates, his mind would not forget Pocahontas. Her face continue to appear in his mind at night and his dreams were haunted by her hands in his, her face next to his, her long hair waving behind her. He felt as though he were ailing from the plague. He could not stop thinking about her, no matter what he did. He blamed himself for running after her, but even as he switched from cursing himself for becoming involved in her, all he could think about was how miserable he would be living his life without knowing her and the things she had taught him.

"Where is Smith?" he heard Radcliffe roar as he snuck out of Jamestown, hastening away.

"He's, uh...well, he was right here," he heard Lon say. He did not hear anything after that as he ran through the forest. He had learned to scout out Indian villages before and he was sure that he could find Pocahontas's village without much trouble. She had given him a good idea based on the river and the name of it. He wasn't completely ignorant about Indian villages. Knowing that much of their livelihood depended upon fishing and her skill with the canoe, he suspected her village lied on the river somewhere. He would have to be careful in how he moved, though, or else he would be caught. He certainly did not want to be captured in any hunting parties so soon.

He jogged through the forestry, pausing every once in a while to peer at subtle signs of activity. As he moved deeper into the woods, following the path of the river and consulting his compass occasionally, he began to hear the sound of Indian voices and their subtle language. He paused, listening, and after determining where it was coming from, he crept forward. There were three men that were clearly the village warriors walking some ways from him. He carefully edged away, keeping his footsteps light. As he moved further from them, he came to a cliff and he released a sigh. Below, he could see the river and fields of green stalks of some type of plant and many rows of what looked like other types of foods. Further away, he could see longhouses and other Indian housing. There were very few people in the vast vegetable garden. He chose that route in order to sneak into the village.

He knew he was not being particular intelligent, but he wasn't all that concerned with that. He climbed through the tall, green stalks, wondering at what the plants could be. He had never seen them anywhere else. He paused, hearing a familiar voice.

"Thank you, father," he heard Pocahontas's voice end. There was a brief pause and then another female voice was saying something else. All he heard from it, however, was Pocahontas's name. John smirked to himself, feeling triumphant, and then slipped through the stalks. He glanced one way and seeing it empty, he turned his head the other way. He recognized Pocahontas's long, shiny hair, but her back was turned to him and another Indian woman spotted him first. Her face turned to horror.

"Pocahontas! It's one of them!" Pocahontas turned and then hurried to cover her friend's mouth, who was in the middle of saying something else.

"What are you doing here?" she gasped, shocked, yet he could tell that she was secretly pleased. Her friend looked distinctly horrified and mumbled something beneath her hand.

"What else?" John asked. "I had to see you. I couldn't stop thinking about you."

At this, her friend was sending him daggers and had uttered something again. Pocahontas smiled and then the sound of her name being called was heard. She jumped and whispered, "Please, Nakoma..." She released her friend and took John's hand, pulling him back through the stalks. She put a finger to her lips and paused to listen.

"Nakoma! Where is Pocahontas?"

"I...I haven't seen her," Nakoma hastily said.

There was a heavy sigh from the male speaking. "I'm worried that she's going to get hurt if she keeps running off like this...It's dangerous out there with these white demons here now. Talk some sense into her, will you? She listens to you..." Pocahontas nodded to John and the two of them left the village, with Pocahontas leading the way. His surliness from the past week faded and he grasped her hand tightly, afraid that she might disappear if he let her go.

"You could have been caught and killed," she told him as they entered the forest and he ran beside her. "My people are worried after they sent a scouting party...your men killed one of our warriors. The other warriors from the tribes are coming now to help drive your men out."

"I had to see you," he repeated simply. "I was willing to risk my life to see you." She said nothing to this, but he saw a faint smile cross her lips. She led him deep into the forest and he realized that they had somehow gotten close to the river again and she led him to where a pool lied with a large weeping willow tree sweeping the river with its long vines. She led him past the vines inside and to a flat part of the tree. He sighed, dropping on his back and closing his eyes. She edged next to him, brushing his hair from his forehead. He opened his eyes and reached up, cupping her cheek. "I've done nothing but think of you," he said quietly. "You're the only woman who's done that to me." Her lips curved upward in a smile. He returned it and sat up, stroking her face gently.

"John..," Pocahontas said hesitantly. "My people will go to war if your men don't leave...will you leave?"

"Well," he sighed, dropping his hand, "Radcliffe is convinced that there are mounds of gold here. None of us have found a thing yet, though."

"Gold?" she repeated blankly.

"It's, uh...bright, shiny, and yellow," he told her.

"Oh! We have a lot of that here." He blinked, astonished by this information. She dug in her pack and then pulled out a long, green object and pulled back the green to show him yellow kernels beneath. "See? Gold."

"Ah...No." He dug in his pocket. "Here. This is gold." She took the coin and raised her eyebrows.

"Hmm, there's nothing like that around here. We've never seen anything like it." She touched her necklace. "The only thing that we have that's as hard as that are things like my necklace. None of it is like that, though. It's all colourful and we make beads out of it with bones and rocks that we shape to fit the necklaces we have."

"I thought as much," he admitted as she handed the coin back to him and he tucked it in his pocket. "A waste of time being here, then, really. Radcliffe won't find anything and we'll be sent back home, failures." He chuckled, amused. Any type of failure of Radcliffe's would bring him satisfaction. It wasn't as if Radcliffe had done him any good, anyway. Pocahontas was surveying him with her intense gaze, causing him to cast her an inquiringly look.

"If they leave, will you go home, too?"

"No," he said, sitting up completely and stroking her hair fondly. "I don't have much of a home to go back to there. Here, with you, is where I feel at home." A sudden sound caused him to frown and turn from her. It wasn't the sound of someone approaching, but a distant song. He strained his ears and then turned his eyes up to the willow tree. He froze as a face appeared and then disappeared. Was he going mad? He must have the plague, then. As he stared at it longer, though, the face appeared again, humming a tune. "Pocahontas!" he whispered, jerking back a bit. "There's a face in that tree!"

"It's Grandmother Willow," she told him, pleased. "She's one of the spirits of nature..."

"Hello, John Smith," Grandmother Willow greeted, her weathered face breaking into a grin.

"What, uh...what do you usually say to a tree?"

"Anything," Pocahontas told him, holding onto his shoulders, her cheek resting against his. "Anything you like."

"Erm..." He got to his feet slowly and cleared his throat. "Alright then..." He was certain that he was experiencing a terrible nightmare where trees were coming to life. He had never experienced such a thing. He felt a push and when he looked behind him, he saw that the tree's vines were pushing him closer to her face. "Ah...How do you do?" he mumbled uncomfortably.

"He has a good soul," Grandmother Willow told Pocahontas and then smirked, saying, "And he's handsome, too!"

"Oh," he laughed nervously. "I like her." The tree released him and Pocahontas raised herself to her feet. "Nothing like a tree spirit telling you you're good-looking to boost your ego." Pocahontas laughed, enjoying his light-hearted humor. Almost immediately there was the sound of his name being called and he swore beneath his breath, pulling Pocahontas to him and out of sight of what sounded like Lon and Ben. "It's some of the men from Jamestown...they must have been sent to look for me." Even though he was wary of them discovering where he was – and who he was with – he felt a deep sense of contentment at having Pocahontas in his arms, her head tucked beneath his chin. He held her to him, closing his eyes, vaguely hearing Grandmother Willow say something and Lon and Ben clambering around, shouting out and sounding frightened.

"There's still some bite in these old vines," Grandmother Willow said, laughing.

"I'd better get back," John said, withdrawing from Pocahontas reluctantly. "If I don't hurry back, they'll have the entire camp out to get me." He chortled mildly, taking a step from the weeping willow and stepping down. Pocahontas followed him and when he looked to her, he felt his heart warm at the longing look in her eyes. "This won't be the last time you see me, Pocahontas," he told her, tucking her hair behind her ear. "I promise I'll come see you again, no matter what." She drew close to him, framing his face with her hands.

"When will I see you again?"

"Tonight," he whispered, gently taking her hands and kissing them. "Right here. I'll see you then."

She smiled at him. "Alright."

John left her then, albeit reluctantly, and he took his time returning to Jamestown. As he stepped around, he felt something hard land on his shoulder and glanced to the side to see Meeko curled around his neck, his fluffy tail flicking on his shoulder. John smiled and patted the raccoon's head and continued forward. He turned his eyes up to the foliage that obscured the sunlight and felt a smile tugging on his lips. It was beautiful here. It was peaceful, the sound of carriage wheels snapping against cobblestones nonexistent, the shouts of voices in the market gone. The only sound was of nature and its creatures chattering around him. Every once in a while, he would hear the call of a wolf from far away and rather than fear it as he once would – or pursue the beast – he would simply continue on his way, unconcerned. Above him, the dark pine trees gave off a welcoming scent.

When the sun began to set, he spotted the tall logs of their camp and Meeko climbed down into the pack that he realized he had taken from Pocahontas without meaning to do. Shrugging that off, he turned around a tree and hastily raised his hands as Thomas whipped around, pointing his rifle to him. "Whoa, Thomas! It's just me."

"John," Thomas sighed, lowering his rifle. "I could have killed you."

"It's not like an Indian is just going to walk up like that and try to kill you," John told him in an amused voice. "But, if he were, I'd keep my eyes open all the way." He approached Thomas and raised the rifle, pointing down to where he had been standing. "You see twice as much that way." He winked at him and Thomas gave him an embarrassed, but grateful, smile. As he entered the camp, Lon and Ben jogged down from where they had spotted him. "Happy to see me?"

"John, we were looking all over for you!" Lon said. Just as he did, Radcliffe stormed from his tent, disheveled and appearing more than a bit angry. John eyed him warily, preparing himself for an argument.

"Smith! Where have you been?"

"Scouting the terrain, sir," he answered promptly.

"Good, good," Radcliffe said, sounding pleased. "Then you'll know where the savages are. Tomorrow we set forth to raid them and take our gold."

"Gold?" John repeated blankly, horrified by the sudden decision of violence. "What are you talking about? They don't _have_ any gold!" Radcliffe paused, his eyes narrowing on him while the other men gawked at John, Ben murmuring, "No...gold?" as if the idea had not once occurred to them.

"Oh? And how do you know _that_ exactly, hmm?"

"I've talked to them," John stated bluntly. When the other men began to sputter, John interrupted, "Yes, they're savages, but they can also teach us the ways of this land – how to navigate it. But there is no gold. I've seen their people. They use coloured rocks to decorate themselves rather than gold like when the Spaniards found those savages. They live off of fish and vegetables, but not any kind of meat like cows, as we do. But there is no gold here. They don't have any." He turned his gaze back to Radcliffe, defiant and prepared to defend his position if he had to. Meeko tapped him and held up the strange vegetable Pocahontas had thought was gold. "And this!" He took it and held it out while the other men stared at it. "They have food."

"But what is it?" Lon asked, puzzled.

"Better than what we're eating, that's for sure," John said with a snort of derisive laughter.

"Idiots!" Radcliffe roared abruptly and slapped the object from John's hand. "Do you think they want to feed us? They want to _kill_ us and keep the gold from us! Your little Indian friend is lying, protecting it. They don't want us to have it!"

"What would they do with it?" John returned irritably. "They have no use for it if they're not using it for their jewelry!"

"Then they must be hoarding it!"

Around them, the men were beginning to look uncertain and in the case of Lon and Ben, they were pointing hostile glares towards Radcliffe. He could see that their resolve was wavering, that they were becoming persuaded by John Smith. His blood boiled with fury. Even he could see that they would never find any gold by digging anymore, but surely the Indians must have some type of gold? There had to be _something_ here besides trees? He swept a look around. Their sad excuse for a town was small and muddy, filled with misshapen tents and many logs tossed around carelessly. He had never felt less like a man with power in his life.

His bulging eyes darted back to John Smith. He would not allow this man to throw his town into dissent.

"This is their land," John told him a bit loudly.

"This is _my_ land," Radcliffe spat back, "and _I _make the rules here." He turned his back to him and left them, sweeping back up to his tent like a particularly large and gruesome rat. John watched him furiously, but said nothing. The men, however, had drank the first sip of doubt and it was churning in their stomachs.

"Let's start a fire," John said, as if the encounter with the governor had never happened. "It's almost dark."

That night, John lay in his tent, listening to the men at the fire murmur about their doubts. He could sense that they were far more convinced by him than Radcliffe, who knew little to nothing about what he was doing. They trusted his judgment better than their own and with a bitter grin, he could understand why. While John had been on several expeditions before, Radcliffe had been to only this one and was known to be a pathetic social-climber in court. Radcliffe was willing to throw down any amount of human lives just so that he could rise in power. The men didn't trust him as their leader.

John blew out his lamp and murmured, "Let's go, Meeko." The raccoon obliged him, climbing onto his shoulder. He slipped out of his tent and crept out of Jamestown. He broke into a run as soon as he was out and he could feel Meeko clinging onto his neck with his sharp claws. He did not heed the pain of the creature's nails, however, and once he arrived at Grandmother Willow, he could hear Pocahontas speaking softly to the willow tree in her own language. "Pocahontas?" he called softly. Meeko leapt off of his shoulder and crawled up to where Pocahontas was standing.

"John." She turned to him, a relieved expression crossing her face. He jumped up to her, taking her shoulders. "The warriors are here. They're preparing for battle."

"So are my men. This entire land has them spooked. And our leader isn't doing anything to help. They won't listen to me. I've already tried talking to them." She looked up to him, her eyes anxious. It felt as though the entire earth was trembling beneath them, threatening to swallow them whole. It seemed deeply unfair that they were from two entirely different worlds yet he knew that he wanted to spend his entire life with her. There was no life that he wished to live without her. He could not bear to stand the thought of her being killed by his own people, though, either, and that seemed far too likely.

There was a sudden growling sound and they glanced to see Percy, Radcliffe's dog, hunched at the tree, glowering at Meeko. "Percy?" John queried, but the dog launched itself at Meeko. "Percy! Stop! Bad dog, sit! SIT!"

"Meeko," Pocahontas called, but Meeko grabbed Flit and jabbed him towards the dog threateningly, ignoring both of them. The dog barked incessantly, daring Meeko to attack him. The two chased each other around the tree, Meeko taunting Percy and the dog barking madly with fury. At last, Grandmother Willow roared at them to stop, causing Percy to halt immediately and cower in spot. She looked aggravated and huffed a bit.

"You see?" John stated, spreading a hand towards them to indicate the two animals. "Even they can't get along, sworn enemies."

"Now, watch you two," Grandmother Willow said, halting any words that Pocahontas might have said in response. She lowered one of her vines into the water and it glowed, the ripples parting. "The ripples. Small at first, but look how large they grow. But...somehow has to start them." She smiled at them, but John had settled on one of Grandmother Willow's branches, appearing dismal and less than enthused by her analogy. With his arms folded over his chest, he simply scowled down into the water. "You may not think they'll listen, John Smith, but remember...while the fighting and conflict continues, you two can never be together." She lifted her branch and pushed him down to where Pocahontas was standing.

He sighed, pushing a hand through his hair agitatedly. "Well..."

"Talk to my father," she told him, taking his hand. "I know he'll listen to you."

"Pocahontas...," he began, but stopped himself. Her face was pleading with him, her eyes hopeful. He sighed again, a reluctant smile touching his lips. "Alright...alright. Let's go see your father." Her face lit up and she threw her arms around him. He stilled, surprised by the sudden burst of affection, and then drew his arms around her, his hands bunching in her smooth hair. He pulled away slightly and met her gaze. Her eyes were dark and beautiful, captivating him. His gaze lowered to her lips and he drew her close, pressing his mouth to hers. Her lips were warm and yielded to him willingly. He slid his hand up, tangling in her long strands as his other hand tightened on her waist.

A sudden cry startled him and he pulled away from her soon enough to see a bronze man launching himself at him with a stone knife in his hand.

"Kokoum! No!" Pocahontas gasped. John was knocked to the ground, struggling with the Indian man as he tried to slit his throat. The man was strong, nearly overpowering him; yet John knew it was out of hate for his people and for the action that Kokoum had clearly witnessed that caused such strength. There was a sudden loud bang and Kokum was scrambling from John, his eyes darting around. "Kokoum!" Pocahontas took this opportunity to leap in front of him, her hands on his arms.

"Get out of my way!" he snarled. "He's one of them and you were – you have betrayed us!"

"No! He wants to protect our people!"

Thomas came jogging from the cover of some trees, his hands shaking. He had missed Kokoum, but not by much. In the distance, they could hear the sound of Indian cries. John forcefully took Thomas's rifle from him. "Go, Thomas! Go!"

"But...I..." Thomas sputtered incomprehensibly.

"_Get out of here!_" John's sharp words urged him away and he hastened away. As soon as he was out of sight, the area was flooded with Indian warriors. As soon as they saw John, they seized him. Pocahontas and Kokoum were still arguing, with her clinging onto his arms as he tried to throw her from him. When he finally succeeded, she flinched as his knife made a thin cut on her arm. He stilled suddenly at seeing what he had done and John, infuriated at his lack of care, lunged towards him, but the other Indian men held him back. Kokoum glanced at him, frowning, and then knelt down to Pocahontas, who slapped his hand away and rose to her feet, holding the cut on her arm.

John was led to the village and thrown in front of the chief. Pocahontas and Kokoum followed thereafter. "What is this white man doing here?" the chief demanded to know.

"Pocahontas was out in the forest," Kokoum declared, "and I went out to find her. This white demon was attacking her and I had to wrench him from her. Another white man tried to kill me with his demon weapon and then fled." He tossed the rifle down in front of the chief, who stared at it with an unfathomable expression. He turned his eyes back to John Smith, who was restrained and was seething. He could not understand a word that was being said, but even he could understand the basic feeling behind the words. The chief took his spear and placed the spearhead against his throat.

"You think you are strong," he told him, "but we are stronger." He removed the spearhead and ordered them to restrain him. As he was dragged away, he could hear Pocahontas talking to her father in her own language, with him replying sharply, overriding her words and sounding none too pleased. Her tone turned pleading, but he never learned what she was saying or what the conversation had determined as he was soon too far away to hear anything. He was led into a single wigwam where he was tied in the middle on a wooden pole. It was an uncomfortable position and he slumped there for a long time, grumbling to himself.

_Who does that 'Kokoum' think he is?_ John thought to himself, only knowing his name because of Pocahontas crying it out when the man had been trying to kill John. _Out of nowhere, he comes from the trees and tries to kill me. _He was reminded of what he had been doing when Kokoum had emerged, enraged. A sudden shock startled him. _Is Kokoum her husband? _He felt his stomach churn. He had thought that Pocahontas would tell him if she were already with another man. He sighed deeply, bowing his head. Of all the situations to get himself involved in, he ends up getting captured by Indians. It was his luck, of course.

John sat that way for some time, undisturbed. He heard some voices outside later, but ignored it, thinking that the warriors watching over him were making smart remarks. A second later, however, he felt a soft touch beneath his chin. He lifted his head and whispered, "Pocahontas."

"I am so sorry," she told him, her eyes filling with tears. "This is all my fault."

"Pocahontas," he said again, "is that man your husband?"

A look of surprise crossed her face. "No...My father wishes for me to marry Kokoum...he's asked for my hand in marriage." John nodded solemnly, as if this made all the sense in the world. "John...I wish there was more I could do for you."

"Oh, this?" he said light-heartedly. "This is nothing. I've been in worse places than this. Can't think of any at the moment..." In reality, he would have to say that this was the worst position he had been in in his life. They intended to kill him in the morning and he was going to have to say goodbye to the most wonderful woman on the planet, all because some jealous suitor couldn't keep his mouth shut and Radcliffe wanted to set spies on him. Pocahontas smiled at his attempt at humor, clearly knowing that what he said was dishonest. She drew close, pressing her lips to his. The feel of her mouth on his was comforting, a reminder that she was real and that this wasn't simply a nightmare.

"I can't leave you," Pocahontas said gently. Behind him, he heard a familiar female voice call her name.

"You never will. I'll always be with you. Forever." Her eyes filled with tears again, but she drew away and stood up, her hand still on his face. She slid her fingertips along his jaw and then her touch was gone. He watched her shadow disappear and then bowed his head again. He was empty without her and the knowledge of his impending death did nothing to ease that feeling.

_TBC_

X

A/N: I hated that Kokoum died, thus I switched it around for my own devious reasons. Does this mean I may switch the ending, as well? Perhaps...perhaps...In any case, please leave some feedback letting me know how I did and remember: criticism is always embraced! Ciao!


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